


Memories

by WretchedOutsider



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Drug Abuse, Freudian Elements, Gen, Guilt, Horror, Monsters, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Psychological Horror, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedOutsider/pseuds/WretchedOutsider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ana disappears under mysterious circumstances, the search leads Christian to the abandoned resort town, Silent Hill. He strives to save her, but in the process is forced to face the dark aspects of himself and gets a therapy session from Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Begins where "Grey" left off.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Taylor pulls the Audi alongside the curb next to Seattle Independent Publishing house, or SIP. The man looks at his surroundings with a hint of caution, but confidence. It’s moments like these that I’m glad to have Jason Taylor, the ever observant bodyguard, under my employ, because I’m too fixated on the double door entrance to SIP to worry about my own safety.

She’s in there. I can practically smell her sweet perfume, though I know it’s merely a memory from the last time we saw each other. The moment she left me. _Anastasia, what have I done?_

“Music, Sir?” Taylor asks.

“Classical,” I say.

“Of course, Sir.”

Shubert’s "Sonata Andantino" fills the SUV. A melancholy piece, at times harsh, it was inspired by the acceptance of death.

“Turn it off, Taylor.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Silence again. I check my phone. 5:50 pm. No texts, no emails, no anything. She should be done with work by now. The damn windows to SIP are tinted heavy black, making it impossible to see into the lobby. I use my phone’s camera as a mirror, trying to manage my copper-colored hair so it at least looks like I combed it. But no matter how clean I look, the gray eyes in the image are alight with barely contained anger. I can’t afford to be angry now. I can’t afford to scare her away. Again.

5:56. Maybe I had been too forward offering her a ride to Josè’s photography whatever-it-was. But she accepted my offer. Maybe she’s having second thoughts. But if she’s bailing now, she at least owes me an explanation.

“Taylor, wait here.”

“Sir, I think’s it’s best—” he starts, but I’ve already slammed the door and started for the entrance before he could even finish his protest.

I straighten my jacket before walking through the door. Scanning the small lobby, I see a slim, young woman in a plum dress. Her long, brunette hair falls in waves down her slender back. As she turns, I freeze – not Anastasia – and then sigh. The woman who is not Anastasia walks right past me and out the door.

A college-aged, perky blonde sits behind the information desk. Her laminated nametag reads “Rachael – SIP Intern.”

“Hi, can I help you?” she asks as she quickly fixes her ponytail.

“Yes, I’m looking for Anastasia Steele.”

She smiles, “Ana? Mr. Hyde’s assistant?”

“Yes. Tell her it’s urgent.”

With a nod, she scurries off around the corner. When she returns, she says “I’m sorry, but she won’t be back until Monday.”

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. Smiling again, she says, “I can leave a message if you want.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” I say, turning abruptly back for the Audi.

I slide into the back seat. Taylor glances at me through the rear-view mirror, but doesn’t say anything.

“Miss Steele’s apartment,” I say while thumbing through the contacts on my phone. Without word, Taylor pulls away. A picture of Anastasia brightens my phone. My jaw clenches. I take a deep breath, trying to gain control over my emotions.

_I’m sorry; the number you’ve reached is not—_

I throw the phone across the SUV. It bounces off the door, and lands on the floor near my foot. A spider-web crack has bloomed across Ana’s porcelain cheek. 

_I’m trying to protect myself_ , she said. How far is she willing to go?

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Taylor asks.

“Just drive.”

Ana’s apartment is finally in view. Before Taylor even comes to a complete stop, I’m out of the Audi and nearly jogging to Ana’s door. I knock, loudly, standing to the side so she wouldn’t be able to see me through the peephole.

I hear nothing but birds chirping and the low hum of the Audi’s engine. From inside, nothing. No TV. No music. No sound of someone rushing to flee. I knock again. “Anastasia, I know you’re home!”

Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah ... I was bored.


End file.
